


Cold

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Cuddling, Fluff, M/M, Sickfic, dirk's sexual frustration., i guess??, that is the new name of this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-18 23:01:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4723532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave gets sick when the heating malfunctions in the apartment, and Dirk takes care of him</p><p>They snuggle a lot too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold

**Author's Note:**

> goodness i just felt bad for not posting in like a week? and i'm now like wow its only been a week. i didnt need to stay up late and post this.
> 
> oh but here we are

"Dirk."

He's wrapped up in your comforter when you get back to the apartment, laying across the couch; his nose is red, and a box of tissues are perched on the backrest. The room is probably a few degrees above the temperature outside.

Oh god, Dave is cute.

"Yo."

"Dirk it's fucking cold in here. What the hell happened to the heating system?"

You shrug and set the groceries down on the counter.

"Guess you're not made for this weather, dude. Also, I got pizza."

He gets up and shuffles across the floor in his fuzzy socks, muttering something about how, "Jersey's a fuckin' roller coaster of gross temperatures."

You would be a liar if you said he isn't absolutely adorable.

"Well, I'm gonna go hit the hay," you tell him as you walk down to your room.

"Already? You're not even gonna fix the heating system?"

You stop at the door. "I'm just your roommate, man. The landlord'll figure something out."

"Dude, I've seen you fix a TV set with your bare hands and no instructions. You can probably get some cash if you fix this one."

"First of all, I used my screwdriver kit for the TV. Second of all," you pause for a bit. "Never mind, I don't have a second thing to say. Anyways, I'll think about it. G'night."

You hear him say, "Gute nacht," after you close the door.

You strip down to your briefs and grab a thin, soft blanket. You've never been a fan of the heat—you've lived in hot and humid weather all your life, and you hated it—so the small blanket is all you sleep in during the winter. Your comforter is just for show.

You shut off the lights and dick around on your computer for a bit before going to sleep.

★

You wake up in the middle of the night to, "Hey, here's your comfor—oh shit, you're asleep," and the door shutting.

★

Dave doesn't get up until noon. You make him pancakes with a frown of whipped cream and two strawberry eyes. You put it on a tray along with a bowl of soup and a glass of milk, and you deliver it to his room. He's wrapped inside two comforters—one of them being yours—with a portable heater on, and his trash can is comically overflowing with tissues.

"Dirk," he whispers, then coughing to clear his throat.

"G'morning, Dave."

"Dirk, I can't feel my throat," he says louder, but groggier.

You sit beside his bed and set the tray on his desk. His eyes are closed and he has the blanket wrapped around his head, covering his ears. His brows are furrowed as you put your hand up against his forehead. You take a moment to adore his eyelashes and the hint of freckles that dust over his cheeks.

"Dude, I'm pretty sure you're sick. I made you soup and pancakes, so if you need anything else, just tell me."

"Alright," he mutters, and his face gets redder. "Tea might be nice."

He opens his eyes and squints against the light pouring in from the window. You take your time to admire his deep red eyes and then close the window. He sits up to grab the tray as you leave the room to make tea. You swear you could hear him thank you quietly.

★

The next time you get home from shopping, Dave's on the ground with the same two comforters, and any heat that was trapped in the apartment is now completely gone. It's cold enough to make even you shiver. You walk over to his side, and he just groans and tells you "five more minutes," but you lift him up with only one comforter and carry him to your room.

You didn't really realize that your brought him into _your_ room until you return to him with another comforter.

His eyes are still shut when you tuck him in like a five-year-old, and he pats your face with a doofy grin.

"My prince," he mumbles. "Lettin' me sleep all up in yer bed. What a gentleman."

You remove his hands from your face an tuck them back into his blanket.

"Get some more sleep, princess," you tell him while he sniffles.

"Where're you gonn' sleep?"

"In your room probably."

His eyebrows furrow.

"'S fuckin' cold in there. Sleep—" he yawns "—sleep _here_."

"Dave, I could survive the Russian winter in just a fanny pack. Now get to sleep."

His eyes open just barely as you stand up to leave.

"G'night kiss then."

"Dude. Are you high or are you sick."

"Do it for mother Russia."

"Well, I can't say no to that."

You kiss him on the forehead, and you won't admit to the heat that fills up your cheeks and the warmth you feel in your chest.

" _Noooo_ ," he whines. "Mouth. W'th tongue."

"Jesus, Dave. I'm not getting sick from your nasty-ass germs. Then who would be able to take care of you?"

"Fair point," he mumbles into his blanket. "One more kiss then."

You give him two, one on his forehead and one on his cheek, and he smiles.

"Good night, Dave."

He grumbles something you can't hear and you leave to his room. His bed is warm and probably infected, but you don't really mind because you're tired as fuck and the cold seems to welcome you. You strip from your shirt and cover your body with whatever blanket you find.

Despite the fact that you're incredibly tired, you can't seem to sleep.

You're in Dave's bed.

Yeah, Dave. The guy who is your roommate, and the guy who is also incredibly fucking adorable. He's also the guy who you feel guilty for dirtying up. But his dumb sex jokes and his innuendos have you completely confused.

You consider jacking it right here and now, but he's just in the other room, and he could probably hear you. Isn't it also considered rude to jerk off in your roommates room? You don't know.

But your silly old mind wanders to how he's most likely masturbated when you were gone. In this bed. You imagine his legs spread slightly and his back arched off the bed, his head whipping back and his mouth opening so slightly. You think of how his head would flip to the side as he gasps, and—

God, you're guilty.

You lose the heat and grab your phone instead of your dick.

_Dirk: Roxy._

_Dirk: Roxy, please answer, I'm having a crisis._

_Dirk: Well, kind of a crisis._

_Dirk: Roxy_

_Dirk: Roxanne_

_Dirk: Rox_

_Roxy: whyre u up so lalte_

_Roxy: late jesus_

_Roxy: dirky its one in the mornin_

_Roxy: jus bcuz im high off my ass doesnt mean u go spammin me_

_Dirk: Roxy, your brother is just_

_Dirk: He_

_Dirk: Goddammit, I can't type this._

You dial her number and turn your phone to loud speaker. The phone dials a few times and then it stops.

"Dirky," he says sternly with a slur in her voice. "Please don't tell me you killed 'im."

"I can't fucking do this, Rox. I don't know what the shit is happening to me."

"Are you becomin' a Transformer? Oh my god, I always knew this always would happen—always. Dirk," you hear her trail off. "Dirk I can't t'lk."

You wipe your hand down your face. You've already dealt with one high person today, and you're not sure that another one would be pleasant.

"Hey, can you snap out of it for a second? I just—," you don't finish the sentence, and groan into your hand.

"Aight. Serious Roxy mode. Hit me."

"Your brother," you say.

"What about 'im?"

You don't answer for a bit, but you can hear the smile on her face.

"Oh my shit, do you think he's cuuute?"

"Yes, fuck yes. God. He's abso-fuckin-lutely adorable. Christ, I don't know what to do about it."

"Well, I don't know what to say. You're on your own when it comes to Davey. Try askin' your sis, Rosey; she knows more about him than I do."

"What."

"'M gonna go pass out now. G'night Dirky!" And she hangs up.

"Wait, no—" you say to a beeping noise and your phone screen lighting back up.

You lock the screen and lay on your back, with your arm across your face and your phone in hand.

Christ, you can't stop thinking about him.

You curse silently into the cold air.

You really cannot stop thinking about him.

You curse into the pillow, louder this time, and it smells like his green apple shampoo.

You end up falling asleep on your stomach and cursing into the pillow until you're too tired to.

★

You wake up early in the morning to your door opening. You sit up quickly and reach for your emergency knife, but it's not there. Because you're still in Dave's room.

You watch the door, and in comes small man in your comforter.

"Dave?" you say, rubbing your eyes.

"Fuckin' cold in this damn apartment I swear..." he mumbles, walking over to you.

"Why are you in here?"

"'S my room. And your room is cold as balls."

He shuffles over to you, and covers you with his blanket. It's really warm. He cuddles back against you, and you lay on your back, unsure of what to do with your body.

"You're s'posed to cuddle me," he whispers.

"I—alright."

You turn on your side and drape an arm around him, and you ignore how sweaty you get and the heat that rises to your face. You'll blame it on the warm blanket around you. You mold your body to the shape of his, and he's so _adorable_ —cold feet and all.

He gives one please sigh when you get situated, and you nuzzle behind his ear and his neck, hoping that he'll forget the dumb intimate things that you're pulling.

★

The light from the window pours into the room, and you slowly wake up from a streak of light across your face. You try to bury your head into the pillow, but your face is met with a head of hair. You huff quietly into the mass of hair, feeling it stir against your chin.

As you become aware of what life is again, you notice a dull ache between your legs. Christ. You feel a yawn on your neck, and suddenly a quick " _holy shit_ ," before a giant wet sneeze on your chest.

Fucking _nasty_.

(You lose the boner.)

You peel yourself away from the person you're holding, and Dave sneezes again.

"Dude, what the fuck?"

"Do you ever just wake up because you have to sneeze? Also, why are you in my room. I can only assume that you came here for late night sexy cuddling."

It's good that he doesn't remember your cuddling from last night, but it's bad that he doesn't know why you're in his room. But you're almost okay with that.

"Because you were sleeping in my room, and then you came in here because you were cold. Do you need anything to eat?"

His face turns red as he shoves half of his face into the blanket.

"Pancakes sound nice. I'm gonna go nap for a bit."

He turns his head from you, and you turn it back.

"Gonna check your temp first."

You feel his warm head with the back of your hand, and his face gets redder as he avoids your eyes.

"Is it hot, Doc?"

"Better than yesterday. I'll go make pancakes now."

You run your hand through his hair and get up to make the food. You only think about his blushing face, and how he's the cutest thing you've ever seen.

★

By the afternoon, his temperature drops significantly. He actually gets up a few times, and he doesn't bring the blanket everywhere he goes.

You're convinced that he's not even sick, but the way he still slurs his words makes you reconsider. He makes a shitty thank you card while you make soup for him, and you tell him to put it on the desk in your room.

He shuffles away in his fuzzy green socks and… those are your pajamas. You force yourself to not blush at the thought, and ferociously stir the soup.

★

You fall asleep in your rightful bed tonight, not bothering to check up on Dave because he's fine watching something on TV. Your shirt is peeled off of you and thrown on the ground, as you curl up with a pillow and a light blanket.

You let your mind drift to whatever pops up into your head, knowing that your dreams will most definitely not make sense.

You can't really fall asleep, even in your very own favorite bed. Your mind keeps wandering to random things, but it doesn't want to sleep. You heard the television shut off a couple minutes ago, and you heard footsteps to the room beside yours. The dots connected in your head to Dave, but then your mind wandered to other random things.

You finally get up and head out to the fridge to grab a bottle of whatever. Your brain is still fuzzy from being half-asleep, but you don't really mind. You sit and get on your phone for a moment, dicking around on the internet.

You end up getting pretty cold, and you subconsciously walk to Dave's room in a daze, getting situated under his blankets. He's not that sick anymore, so you don't regret a single thing that's happening. You pull off your shirt in a single move, and he stirs with the effort of a sleepy child, turning his head slightly in the direction of yours.

"Dirk? What..."

"Are you complaining?"

He considers this for a second, then he turns back to his original position.

"No, not really."

You sigh and drape an arm around him, nuzzling your nose into his apple scented hair.

★

You feel movement on your chest. It's uncomfortable, to say the least; and the movement becomes weight, and that weight happens to be heavy. You can't breathe well unless you force the weight upwards with a deep breath.

You get frustrated and your eyes peel open slowly, adjusting to the light from the window.

It's morning, and you also have morning wood.

Gross.

You shut your eyes again.

You try to stretch out your arms, but there's something trapping one of them. You peek through one eye to see what the weight is on your chest, and you're met with a head of red-dyed hair.

Your senses come to you all at once, and you panic slightly, laying your head back down. You stare up at the ceiling and breathe slowly. Breathe slowly. There you go. Your heart slows back down, and you look back down at Dave.

You feel his arms around your stomach, which is, to your dislike, completely bare, and half of his body is kind of on top of yours. You feel his breaths on your chest, and the rise and fall of his.

None of this solves your morning wood problem. If anything, it worsens it.

He shifts slightly, very much to your utter dismay, and you lay your head back down, shutting your eyes, pursing your lips, and breathing evenly through your nose. You can make this work. You can get through this. Just get up and get out, you tell yourself.

But no, your plan will not work, because you know that he's awake now, by the way he sighs loudly and sits up on his arms to stretch them. He gets confused for a moment, and you look up at him.

He looks at you, he smirks, and he lays back down in his previous position. Right on top of your boner.

 _Nice_.

"What's that poking my stomach? Is it you—oh fuck, it is you; fuck _fuck fuck_ ,"

He gets back up on his arms, and tries to climb out of the covers as fast as he can, muttering something about the bathroom. You don't really want to let him leave, and you're 88% sure he doesn't want to go, so instead, you reach for his shirt and pull him back down.

"Dude, your morning schlong is poking at my hip; this is the most awkward thing we've ever done."

"Are you complaining?"

He hesitates. "I—No. But the wiener thing has got to go."

You grin at him.

"Are you gonna help it?"

"Jesus, are we in a gay porno?"

He rests his forearms beside your head to stare at you.

"If you want us to be in one, I have connections."

"We keep it private at first, and then I'll think about it."

You wrap your arms around his stomach.

"Can I kiss you?" you ask.

"Duh," he says quietly, and you push your head up to kiss him, barely after he gets the word out.

You lose the boner after a while, but that's okay because you enjoy cuddling him more than a blow job.

★

Each night is now spent in your room; with Dave in the comfort of a blanket, and you in nothing but a pair of boxers. You like to share the blankets sometimes, but most of all, you like to share kisses with him and moments cuddling against the cold.

The heat of the building was finally fixed with your help, but that never stopped you from clinging to Dave's warmth through his sweater. And in the summer, you still hold him despite the humidity. You know it will always come back to the cold when you can cuddle for warmth, and you cling to each warm memory with him—summer or not.

You still have his shitty thank you note on your desk.

**Author's Note:**

> hi, my name is I am so tired right now that I spent literally one minute editing this.
> 
> (i'll try fixing it up tomorrow! but for now i'm gonna go pass out)


End file.
